


Honesty

by conboimckinky



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Character Studies mostly, Descriptions of verbal/physical abuse, Mentions of abuse/abusive behaviour, Multi, Murdoc's his own warning entirely, That a sauce????, plot????
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-06-28 12:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15707547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conboimckinky/pseuds/conboimckinky
Summary: The gang misses him, in the moments they're alone.And he misses them.And he's alone a lot of the time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first band fic I've written seriously? As of right now I don't have a ship thought out because I'm torn between the two. I wanna see what happens with Murdoc first.  
> The first few chapters'll just be me figuring out how to write the characters. Feedback's appreciated.  
> Anyway, enjoy!  
> Or don't? I don't control you.

Stuart missed him.  
He did- really- and it made him feel bloody stupid.   
As soon as Murdoc left, banged up behind bars, the harsh reality had begun to sink in. He'd abused 2D. For years.   
And royally fucked him up.   
But 2D couldn't help feeling a little lost.  
Murdoc had been there ever since...well, forever, if you asked Stu.  
When he'd been comatose, Murdoc was there, putting cigarettes out on his tongue, driving him about like the maniac he was, and shoving the pills that kept his insides functioning down his throat.  
When he woke up, Murdoc was there, urging him to sing, promising stardom, and then throwing bottles when a gig faltered.   
Every last detailed memory Stu had included Murdoc. No matter how bad, or good, or hazy- Murdoc. His face and his scowl and his pain.  
-  
Having the bastard nicked wasn't all bad, though.  
The days were good. Stu still flinched at things but, some mornings, he woke up with glowing white eyes and a smile.   
He took up rollerskating. In fact, 2D found himself skating on most days, if the weather allowed it. He'd wake up, inhale some toast, and strap the boots straight on. Russ would wave him off and Noodle would pull faces from the window.  
Even the new band member was a delight.  
Ace treated Stu like a human instead of a 'trusty house cat'. He waited for the ends of sentences, and didn't call him 'face ache', and said good morning with a sluggish smile instead of a Converse to the head. He was talented, too- and soon slotted safely into the band. 2D still got panicky around him, like that time he dropped a glass and it shattered; and Ace had entered, and 2D had started spitting apologies as he dropped to the ground to clean it up, cutting his hand.   
But, overall, the life he lived during the day was good.  
Stu did things that he'd been stopped from before. He walked through the park when the house felt too cramped. He brought what he wanted when they went to the grocery store. He felt comfortable in his own skin when he took a bus into town. He sat on the windowsill and watched the stars. He watched zombie movies with Ace downstairs.   
He even did karaoke at a bar one night, even though Murdoc would've yelled at him for it- 'people should pay more than a pint for your voice, ya bell end.'   
Stu never knew whether to take that as a compliment or not.   
-  
"C'mon, Stu! You love this stuff!"  
It was true- Stu did love karaoke. He took the list of available songs from Noodle's hands and sucked on his bottom lip uncertainly. He sipped his cider and turned to Ace, who was grinning, and then to Russ, who nodded encouragingly.  
2D loved karaoke in general. It was rare it came up, especially since they became popular, and Stu hadn't been allowed to for years. If a bar was hosting a karaoke night, Murdoc would offer a...harsh...warning before they entered.  
But Murdoc was in prison, so Stu walked up to the monitor and found his song.   
Noodle cheered before the track started. He scanned his bandmates- his friends- sitting on the stalls, cleared his throat, and pretended he needed the words onscreen.

"Still got pictures of friends, on the wall.  
Suppose we aren't really friends, anymore.  
Maybe I shouldn't ever have called this thing friendly, at all."

It was an...unexpected choice, but Noodle's face lit up. Stu's whole being seemed to relax. He carefully wrapped his hand around the microphone and leaned into the stand, letting the smooth rhythm wash over him like waves. It vibrated when he sung. His eyes closed as the instrumental hit.  
The crowd- as small as it was- fell into a trance. People leaned forward on their elbows, glasses half-raised in the interrupted sipping. The room held a collective breath as the songs end approached.

"I've done some things that I shouldn't have done." 

A break. The gentle sound of fading chaos. Stu sucked in a small breath.

"But I haven't stopped loving you once, oh." 

The song finished, the recording clicking to an end.   
If Stuart was anything, he was a performer. The song was slow and gentle, leaving his voice, and the lyrics, at centre stage. He karaoke'd with such grace the whole bar took a minute before they began to clap.   
Russel clapped the loudest. He was the first to buy Stu a beer when he sat down. People offered compliments left and right, until Russel had to gentle ask Stu if he wanted a cigarette.   
They left the bar, visiting the alley to the left.   
The chat that followed was hushed and emotional. 2D crumbled as the sun set, and then- well, then he felt okay.  
-  
No. The day wasn't the problem. The sun shined and 2D smiled and Ace treated him like a human and the band got along. He felt light, like years and years of trouble had been lifted from his shoulders. The stress, sadness, and heartache of almost 20 years seemed a million miles away. He laughed and talked and ate and was listened to.  
No, the daytime was bliss.  
The nighttime was the problem.  
When Stu retreated to his room was when things got messy.   
He popped a couple of pills, swallowed dry, and collapsed onto the bed.   
Then his brain attacked him.   
-  
It was cold, and they sat on the beach anyway. The wind and the sea sung to each other, a senseless duet.   
2D inhaled smoke.  
2D exhaled smoke.  
Murdoc watched.  
It was an odd moment. Quiet, bordering on awkward, and weirdly peaceful. Stu had forgotten his jacket and prayed that, if he kept chain-smoking his JPS Blues, the burning ends would keep him warm.   
"You look like shit."   
Stu just nodded. He watched the smoke reach for the moon. He felt like that sometimes- like floating off and reaching for the moon.   
Murdoc grew impatient. He squeezed the end of 2D's cigarette out with his fingers. The pain lasted a millisecond in comparison.   
"Out with it!" Murdoc commanded, giving his shoulder a shove.  
Stu stayed silent for a moment. The water rose over the pink spray paint.   
"The album's finished," he told him. Murdoc groaned in frustration.  
"That's why I've sat here in the fuckin' cold, watchin' you chain smoke like a fuckin' chimney? For you to tell me somethin' I already know?"   
Stu decided to give it up. He put his cigarette out and stood up. He bent down, leant into Murdoc's ear, and whispered something that made his lungs collapse.  
Then he turned, feet squeaking on a plastic bag, and walked back inside.   
The whale watched Stu sink into his bed.   
\-   
A/N because the notes box looked so crowded.  
1) The song he sung is called The Ultracheese by Arctic Monkeys. It's a beautiful song. The name is bloody terrible.  
2) I don't like to edit stuff until everything is out of my system, so sorry for any mistakes.  
Please leave feedback if you have time.  
Ta  
x


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noodle has just as many feelings as everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A double upload?   
> It's 3am.

Sometimes, Noodle got tired of keeping a brave face.  
She hated Murdoc being in jail. Yes, seeing 2D's emotional capacity improve by a mile was fantastic, and she understood- even though she guessed he was probably missing Murdoc, too.   
But Murdoc was her guardian.   
She missed him constantly. It followed her around, this feeling that she couldn't shake; like a thousand tiny thumbtacks poking through the sole of her shoes. That made very little sense, but so did her feelings.  
Murdoc was terrible, Noodle was under no illusions. But, God, she loved him. When she couldn't remember where she was from or who she was meant to love, Murdoc had been there. He'd watched over her, caught her when she nearly fell trying to reach the tallest shelves, and hugged her during thunderstorms.  
-  
Noodle couldn't explain to the raggedy gang of musicians at the table why she had almost flipped it at the first clap of thunder. The rain hammered the windows like her heart hammered her rib cage. She slithered off her chair and under the table for shelter, covering her ears.  
Seconds later, Murdoc was under there, too, and Russ decided to drag 2D to bed. Nobody could deny that Noodle and Murdoc had an understanding- some kind of connection.   
Murdoc was only ever gentle with Noodle.  
He folded himself under the table and saw her shivering. She wasn't afraid of much, but the wind and the crackling in the sky seemed amplified from the top of Kong Studios. The front gates slammed together in the distance.  
She whimpered.   
Murdoc gentle began to pry her hands from her ears. Noodle attempted to fight back, but the gibberish the bassist was muttering seemed almost comforting. She made out the word 'game' and tilted her head slightly.  
Thunder.  
Jump.   
Her head colliding with the underside of the table.  
Murdoc held up three fingers when she stopped rubbing her head. She watched intently, only flinching at the slamming of the gate and the crackling thunder.  
Then, the grey room lit up with a crash, bright white light surrounding them for a moment. It left as quickly as it arrived.  
Murdoc waited before he held the fingers up again. She copied, this time.  
When the sky growled a warning, Murdoc tickled Noodle's side. She jumped, and began to giggle as the thunder clapped. Her laughter faltered.  
Growl.  
Laughter.  
Crackle.  
Growl.  
Laughter.  
Crackle.   
They went on like that for a while, until Noodle was screeching over the thunder and wiggling, tickling Murdoc whenever he got close enough. He'd later claim that was for her benefit only.  
Eventually, the storm withdraw it's clutch on Kong Studios, and Murdoc coaxed Noodle out from under the table with a cookie. He scooped her up in his arms and begun up the stairs. As they climbed, he hummed a gentle tune. Something Noodle vaguely recognised.  
She was asleep before they reached her room.  
-  
Noodle soldiered on, as was her habit.  
Many emotions laced themselves in her smile. Part of her was glad he was gone, too. He radiated negative energy (and negative odours) that really brought the whole group down. He blew money on drugs and whores and cars they didn't need.   
Murdoc never showed any gratitude, either. Ever. According to him, they should all focus on thanking him- he made the band, after all.  
That attitude always scraped at Noodle's patience.   
He didn't make the band, she argued internally, we made him.   
It wasn't as though Murdoc had much success with his other projects. Each time he tried, he failed- and he was the only constant in the equation.   
But she felt that 2D's favourite response- "fuck off, stupid bell end"- summarised it well enough.   
A certain amount of guilt followed, too.   
She remembered the day she found out about Cyborg Noodle.   
-  
"It was just...horrible," Stu finished, shaking his head.  
It was the first time he'd spoken about what happened at plastic beach since he got back.   
"Was it lonely?" Noodle asked. She already knew the answer.   
"Very," he admitted solemnly, "for all three of us."   
Noodle's head snapped up from her Red Bull can.  
"Three?" She questioned. "Who else was there?"  
Stu got the feeling he should lie, but Noodle's eyes were full of confusion and it pained him.  
"Doc didn't tell you," he says, rather than asks. Noodle shakes her head and he sighs.  
"He made a fuckin' cyborg of you, N. It was terrible. I thought it was you, until there was a gun pressed to my throat. It made terrible noises all the time, and spoke like Siri."  
Noodle stood up and left. Her legs stopped making her walk, and the anger took over instead. She was sick of this- of Murdoc's greed. It hurt and bruised the people around him and his failure to see that made her shake. She didn't bother knocking on his door.   
She kicked it down, and heard the thud of Murdoc falling out of bed.   
Noodle stormed over and her nails dug into her palms.   
"You replaced me...with a fucking...TIN CAN!?"  
She had never shouted like that before. The guilt attacked Murdoc's shoulders in an instant. He stood and pressed his bare back against the cold wall.   
"Poppet, I can explain-"  
"Don't call me that," Noodle interrupted. She loved that nickname, but it threatened to talk her down. She refused. Murdoc blinked, and she almost saw tears.   
"I needed a guitarist and we thought you were dead. I waited, I promise I did, but we needed somethin' to play."  
Noodle's organs shook. Her skin vibrated. She took a step towards him.   
"You're the greediest person I have ever met," she told him, "you don't give a shit about anyone but yourself, these days. You used to. You used to be the best, really- at least I thought so."  
Murdoc sniffed, pressing a fist into his eyeball. He shuffled on his feet. The comments didn't provoke him, not coming from Noodle. Instead, shame gripped him like a bear trap. He knew better than to struggle.   
"You're horrible, and selfish, and completely insane. You lack gratitude and never, ever, say thank you. We put our asses on the line for you every single time, and you'd rather hide on an island of rubbish and kidnap people. Does it make you happy? Are you satisfied now? You have the rockstar career and the money and yourself- are you proud of yourself?"  
Murdoc shuddered. He gulped, and Noodle ignored the tear running down his cheek. It was a single tear, and she already felt the fire in her body being extinguished.  
"I'm sorry," he whispered desperately. He reached out for her. Noodle wanted to collapse into him, stand in an embrace, and cry herself. She was too exhausted to do much else. She wanted the safety, the reassurance that one thing would always be there for her.  
But she wasn't sure Murdoc was that person anymore.  
"No," Noodle countered as she turned and headed for the door, "you're guilty."  
She could hear fist connecting with wall plaster as she fell into her own room.   
-  
Guilt was definitely a part of it.  
Somewhere, Noodle wished she could apologise for it. The thought of never getting the chance to kept her awake at night.  
She stared at the ceiling for answers.  
Why did she miss him? He was everything she said he was; selfish and greedy and....  
And solid.   
She remembered idolising him before she remembered English again. He had respect, and friends, and a way with words that made 2D cry. Noodle admired his control, how everyone did as he said when he said it.   
Only when she remembered English again, that image fell apart.   
He got his respect through fear. 2D cried when he said horrible things, and people paid attention only when he smashed something. People did as he said when he said it for fear of never doing anything again.   
It was nothing to idolise.   
They weren't his friends.  
But Noodle had always seen a different side to him.   
Her Murdoc was soft. He spoke quietly and meekly. He ordered pizza when she asked and yelled at 2D when he complained about the toppings. He brought her cookies during thunderstorms. He commented earnestly on outfits. He sat with the TV loud when the rain rattled the windows.  
Noodle wasn't even scared of those things anymore.   
Maybe it had been for him all that time, she pondered.   
That was the Murdoc she missed.  
She did a pretty good job at hiding it, though. She put flowers in her hair and played chess hear the beach and made 2D carry her to the shops. Noodle visited horse races with Ace, and stole his jackets, and cooked with Russel most nights. She chose the movie every Wednesday.   
She sat with 2D on the windowsill when the loneliness sunk into his eye bags.  
Maybe that was for her all that time.   
It felt wrong, sometimes- carrying on with their improved normal while Murdoc rotted behind bars for the one crime he was innocent of.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Russel's got some feelings, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may come out terrible. I haven't exactly figured out how to write Russel yet. He's a conflicted lad and his relationship with Murdoc is poorly presented a lot of the time. It's hard to gauge how they feel together and their dynamic, which obviously makes this quite difficult. I hope I do him justice. Comments and advice are always appreciated <3

Russel hadn't expected to miss their greasy bassist as much as he did.  
He realised pretty quickly that a lot of his time was spent on Murdoc.   
On cooking him meals to suit his mostly nocturnal habits, on collecting the disgarded glass bottles that seemed to be wherever he went, on answering worried calls and emails from his manager because Murdoc so rarely did it himself.  
Russel noticed a lot of things with him gone, actually.  
The bins were less full. The dishes got done. The fridge was stocked. 2D relaxed. Noodle didn't have to shout over anyone. Interviews ran smoother. The house was quieter.  
He wasn't sure how he felt about that last point.  
When he met Murdoc (or rather, when he was kidnapped and forced to meet Murdoc), Russel fell in love with the chaos. It provided a distraction from the voices in his head, the paranoia and the truama that made him tremble when he was left with nothing but the sound of his own breathing. He loved it. He loved the craziness of the music, and the people who created it. It was chaotic. It was magical.   
It was home.  
And that's why Russel stayed.  
-  
"Oh, Murdoc, 's really bad," the blue haired kid whispered behind him.   
Kid was the right word.  
Although he insisted he was twenty years old, the guy was almost annoyingly childlike. He held himself like a disobedient pet around the other- the guy who'd put the bag over his head. The blue haired one lisped and stuttered when he spoke, tripped over his words, and played with his fingers.   
Russel focused on the music in the earphones he'd been given.  
It wasn't the ideal situation- being kidnapped and forced to listen to some demos- but Russel found himself enjoying the music, really. It was full of potential at least, just missing some percussion.  
The ghost of his best friend Del agreed, too.   
"Yo, man, it's killer!" Del exclaimed from the inside. Russel simply grunted.   
The other two hadn't heard it, obviously.   
The 'album' seemed to come to an end, and the guy- Murdoc, he assumed, according to the trembling kid- spun his chair around.  
"So, Russel, what did ya think?" He asked, narrowing his eyes and grinning. There was something sinister about the sneer behind it.  
"It's pretty good," Russel commented, "missin' some beats, though."  
"We were jus' hopin' you could 'elp us with that, mate. Name's Murdoc, and this mumblin' idiot is Stu- but you can call 'im 2-D."   
Russel nodded. It was a pretty sweet deal. He got to make music, which he loved, and he could sense that they could be something big. Determined to keep his calmed, considerate demeanour, he raised his eyebrows at '2-D', instead. Pure black eyes stared back.  
"Why 2-D?" He asked.  
"Oh, uh," the kid blinked, surprised he was being addressed, and rubbed his hands together. "Ya see the, uh, dents...in me 'ead, like, yeah? Well, they ain't really dents, they's jus'-"  
Murdoc groaned, leaning forward to tell him to 'hurry the fuck up' and 'use his damn words'. Russel frowned slightly.  
"Yeah, uh, sorry. The dents, in my 'ead? There's two of em'...it was Murdoc's idea, like..."  
Russel nodded slowly. He'd asked 2D for the story later, when Murdoc wasn't around to interrupt him. He wasn't a fan of that dynamic. It explained the stammering, and the anxiety that laced 2D's expressions when Murdoc spoke or moved.   
"So?" Murdoc pressed, leaning forward with a sneer again.  
"Sure, I'll do it."   
-  
With Murdoc gone, Russel felt a little...disconnected.   
They may not have been as close as they were to the others, but the pair shared a certain understanding. Russel had learned a lot about Murdoc since they'd met.  
In fact, he knew more about the real Murdoc than their frontman.  
When Murdoc was too drunk or high to stumble home, he always called Russel. He didn't trust anyone else when he began to spill his guts (emotionally, not...you know). When truly intoxicated, he overshared. Russel was the only one who knew that.  
It was also how he knew some of Murdoc's secrets.  
-  
Murdoc collaped into Russel's arms as soon as he stepped through the door. He was lucky that Russel was built like a tank, muscles ready to support the stick figure bassists dead weight without much preparation. He hoisted him up immediately and ignored as the intoxicated idiot slur-screamed ABBA into his ears.  
Russel walked to the bar, fished into Murdoc's pockets, and paid his tab before they left. Murdoc grumbled something about how the manager should be paying him, seeing as his star status brought in triple the usual customers if he tweeted his location.   
Russel rolled his eyes.  
Eventually, Murdoc was strapped into the passenger seat without much chance of disaster, and Russel started the engine.   
The first few minutes of road were driven in silence.   
"I'm unhappy," Murdoc announced into the thick quiet, staring out of the windscreen.   
Russel nodded. It encouraged him to carry on.  
"I thought, maybe once I became a fuckin' superstar, I'd be 'appy foreva."  
Conversations like this were few and far between. Russel noticed he'd stopped. He glanced at him.  
"Why ain't you happy, Doc?" Russel asked quietly.  
"I dun' fuckin' know, that's the truth o' it," Murdoc slurred, "I'm jus' neva 'appy. I'm a fuckin' 'orrible person, Russ. Dents is bloody terrified o' me, and Noodle is one more fuckin' day away from walkin' out."   
Russel couldn't exactly argue with that. Murdoc could be horrible. 2D was terrified of him. Noodle was getting sick of it. He simply nodded.  
"I ain't got nothin' 'onest in my life, Russ. Not a single fuckin' thing. No one in me damned life is there 'cos they wanna be. 'S always outta fear, or pity, or some bullshite lie I spun. It ain't good."  
Russel took one hand off the wheel and slowly rubbed Murdoc's back. The older man folded in two, choking on tears. He shuddered under Russel's hand. It was warm, comforting, and made Murdoc feel worse.  
"I'm here because I believe in us, man," Russel replied quietly after a few minutes. "I believe in us, and the band, and the music we make togetha'. I really do, Doc."  
"You ain't scared o' me?"   
"Nah. I'd lay ya out in seconds."   
Murdoc sniffed and sat up. Apparently sobering and clear-eyed, he nodded and switched the radio on.   
-


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace is a lad. Lad's have feelings, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hella nervous about this one. From what I've read, Ace is carefree. The fandom seems to have universally accepted this.   
> But, I don't know, I had the urge to make him feel a little deeper.   
> I think I made it worse.  
> Comments are appreciated- positive or otherwise <3

Ace was confident. He was smart. He could play well. He was a performer. The band really did like him. He added something to them. The fans loved him.   
Ace was confident.  
And that was all that mattered, right? He knew he was good at playing bass. He could pluck the strings and swing his hips and grin for pictures. He really was as talented as Murdoc.   
Really- he was.  
Ace tried to convince himself of this, anyway.  
But taking over his old pals place in the band was daunting. As fantastic an opportunity as it was, he couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by the stars super status.   
Sometimes, doubt managed to wriggle it's way into his thoughts.  
People had high expectations, and Ace knew this. Murdoc may have been an asshole, even when he knew him, but no one could say he wasn't talented. Fans adored him, and Ace knew this, too.   
The thought of having to fill a Murdoc-shaped hole in his legacy (no matter how temporary) terrified him way more than he let on.   
And there was the band.  
Ace tried to appear confident, unbothered, and chilled out- but he didn't really feel it. The band was the most talented group of people he'd ever met. He couldn't help the sense of inferiority that twisted in his stomach when he first showed up in the studio.  
-  
"Come on in, Ace!"   
The bands general manager beckoned him through the door. Ace's grip on his bass case tightened. He gulped before taking a step forward.  
The band had just arrived for their first practice with him. They all looked...incredible.  
Russel sat with his drumsticks in one fist and a coffee in the other. He laid backwards in a desk chair, swinging himself from side to side. He was the first to look up, give Ace a once-over, and grin. The man, although shorter, had way more pounds of muscles than he. Ace waved at him meekly, running his hand back through his hair.  
Noodle jumped to her feet instantly, almost knocking the guitar next to her to the floor. At least she was a familiar face as she sped towards him. Her hug almost knocked him over. Her presence put Ace at ease slightly- if the rest of them hated him, at least he could count on Noodle. He looked over the top of her head for the man he was equally eager and terrified to meet- the one who he'd admired since the bands beginning.  
2D's hair was still damp from an early morning shower, ruffled at the back, and he twirled an unlit cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. He looked up and, upon making eye contact with Ace, seemed to tense immediately. The dark pits blinked slowly, twice. His shoulders seemed to loosen as soon as Ace offered a shy, star-struck smile.   
He was as stunning as the photos depicted. Tall, when he stood, and almost awkward. Handsome, though. Everything from the gaps in his smile to the strides that he took made Ace weak.  
Maybe he shouldn't have agreed to join in Murdoc's place. Granted, he owed him one, but still...  
"Initiation time, Ace!" Noodle cheered, pulling him out of his day-dream.  
His cheeks heated when he realised he'd been staring at 2D. Seemingly unfazed, the tall frontman raised one eyebrow and smiled.   
They all stood up and came towards him.  
"What's, uh, what's initiation, Ramen Gal?" Ace asked, almost nervous.   
"A fuckin' group hug, of course!" Noodle yelled as she pounced on him again.   
She then pulled Russel and 2D into it. Ace felt himself freeze, but rubbed Noodle's back before setting her down on the floor again. The three boys exchanged (slightly awkward) hello's and introductions.  
The manager coughed impatiently and they were ushered into the sound booths.  
-  
But time had made it better.  
Ace soon discovered that he was loved by a different demographic of fans. He received tweets and the occasional letter filled to the brim with praise. It really did boost his confidence. He let his talent shine.  
Most of the time.  
But, sometimes, he'd look up to catch 2D staring at him. It rarely hid malice, but held something else. Whenever Ace acknowledged it the 'something else' became a flash of fear.   
Ace chose to ignore that, though. He'd heard about the way Murdoc had treated 2D and they didn't exactly lack any similarities. At a glance, Ace could understand where the staring was coming from.  
He let it slide and enjoyed the life that had been handed to him.   
The first thing Ace did was get himself a whole new wardrobe (with some help from Noodle). He couldn't help the feeling of giddiness at the thought of all the money. Of course, he wasn't in it for that, but he was used to counting pennies to scrape by. It was nice to be able to see something he wanted and just...get it.  
Part of him felt guilty, though. His friends at home still had nothing and Ace barely had time to visit. His schedule became full in minutes, sometimes.  
The feelings seemed to stack up inside him, but he pushed on. He couldn't exactly complain.  
He got on well with the band. They went out together. Noodle taught him how to play chess. Russel taught him how to cook easy meals. 2D watched zombie movies with him until the early hours of the morning. He got to practice bass almost every day.  
Ace was incredible thankful for Noodle, though. The pair had been friends a while. They vented to each other, sometimes- when it all got a little much.  
-  
"I just...He's terrible, and all that, but I fuckin' miss him," Noodle finished her rant, dropping 'g's when she spoke- a habit she picked up from the boys.  
Ace nodded. He understood. He knew what it was like to miss someone you shouldn't. Noodle exhaled some pearly grey smoke, watching it rise and disappear. Ace did the same.  
"What about you, Ace? Enjoyin' the star life?"   
Ace shifted slightly. They were sat in a tree a short walk away from the house. It's roof watched them from a distance. In interviews, Ace answered this question with a large smile and enthusiastic nod. He'd give an almost-rehearsed answer; 'it really is the dream' or a cheeky, 'it has it's perks.'   
But this was Noodle. This was honesty, and the weight of an icon, and sometimes Ace liked to tell the truth.   
"Yeah," he said quietly, putting his cigarette out on the tree trunk, "it's good."   
Apparently, it wasn't very convincing. Noodle leaned her head on his shoulder and prompted him to explain the small sigh.  
"Well, it's a lot of pressure, ya know?" Ace explained gently. "He was a terrible guy, yeah, but he was bloody talented. Like, really bloody talented. Is a lot to live up to, is all."  
Noodle nodded in response.  
"I worry sometimes, too, I do. Silly things, like I ain't actually good enough for your band, or that you lot don't like me as much as I like you. Is fucking hard sometimes."  
It felt good to get it out in the open, but Ace could feel himself getting increasingly frustrated. Seemingly sensing it too, Noodle sat up. She swung herself around to be facing him.   
"Tell me some of the good parts, Ace."   
"Well, I do like having nice clothes for once. And it's great to have a proper roof over my head, it is. And playing music for people is...well, it ain't even describable!"   
Noodle grinned. Ace grinned back. She spun and leaned on him again.  
"What do you like about it, Ramen Gal?" Ace asked.  
"I like the band," Noodle replied softly, "I like feelin' like a family, and then playin' for the fans. They're a part of our family, too, y'know?"   
Ace nodded. He knew.  
"And I love the clothes, and the glitz, and the glam. It's fantastic- and I've been livin' like it since I was 10, which is bloody mental, when you think about it."  
Silence settled between them. It had been a while since they'd had a conversation like that. Ace smiled at the sky, feeling slightly better after being honest with someone. The sun burned brightly, but the leaves overhead provided shelter. After a while, 2D ran into view, waving his arms and shouting for the pair.  
"How'd ya get so high up!?" 2D yelled, shielding his eyes with his hand.  
"We climbed up!" Ace replied cheekily. Noodle shoved him lightly.  
"Ta, cap'ain obvious! Well, climb back down, Russ said we is goin' out for lunch!"   
Noodle turned to Ace. Ace grinned.   
"Race ya down!" They both yelled at the same time.  
Ace ignored the distant 'I'm to old for this' in his mind as he scrambled down the tree trunk.  
-


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc. Just...Murdoc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!!!  
> This chapter contains:  
> \- something called overamping. this is very similar to an overdose, except with death being less likely. basically, it's when you take a lot of drugs, and your body freaks out, but you don't nessesarily die. you just feel like it.  
> \- mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, and death.

Prison was bullshit.  
Murdoc already knew this; he'd been jailed before.  
But never for so long. And the people there knew who he was, and not to fuck with him. He made friends easily and busted out quickly.  
This time was different.  
He spent a lot of time looking at cinderblock walls and blinking. Time seemed to have become a slow crawl for him, although apparently his band seemed to be flying through the year. It made him itch to think about. They were successful- his band- and completely untouched by his absence. Unaffected. No one had even bothered to attempt to visit.  
At least the fans cared- right?  
Although, when he thought about it, Murdoc wasn't sure he should trust the judgement of people still supporting him after what he did.  
What he had done.  
'Hurt people hurt people'.  
When he first heard that, it made him want to laugh. Murdoc had snarled instead.  
-  
"I really think you should get therapy, Muds," Noodle commented lightly from her seat opposite him at the table.  
The other two had left- it was just her and Murdoc in the house. He'd slumped into the metal chair and grabbed last nights rum. Russel didn't allow them to smoke in the kitchen, but Russel wasn't there, so Murdoc had already sparked up when Noodle walked in. He ignored the crinkle of disappointment in her brow. He'd become used to it.  
"I'll pass, ta, poppet," Murdoc replied sluggishly.  
Everything about him was sluggish these days. He dragged himself sluggishly out of bed. He spoke sluggishly when he could be bothered to speak at all. He descended the stairs sluggishly when he needed to.  
It was kind of depressing to watch, but Murdoc wasn't letting anyone look for more than a second, anyway.  
"Because," she replied placidly, "hurt people hurt people." It was her quoting voice- light, but thick with intelligence. He usually liked it. Hearing her say something smart when she's been raised by a drunk, a junkie, and a possessed bloke filled him with some sense of pride.  
Murdoc let that stew for a second. It made his chest feel tight. He supposed it was true. He'd been hurt, and he hurt people in response. But he wasn't about to give Noodle the satisfaction of knowing she was right.  
He snarled at the crude understanding of his psyche.  
"Wit' all due respect," Murdoc practically growled, "the last thing I need's someone to tell me jus' how royally fucked I am, hon."  
The disappointment curled in between Noodle's eyebrows. Somehow, she always managed to put his anger out with lashings of guilt. Her sigh, heavy with sadness, rung in his ears.  
"Muds-"  
"I don't need no help. I need more fuckin' rum, yes. But help? Thanks for the offer, but no ta. An' the last person I'm gonna listen to is you. No offence, but you're a lil' too young to get it, okay? So go back to throwin' your guitars 'bout or somthin'."  
Noodle slammed her hands on the table. The empty bottle rattled. Murdoc stared at the grain in the table, ignoring the heated stare of the one person he thought might actually understand. Although they weren't related, they shared an unhealthy dose of rage at the best of times.  
"I was just tryin' to help," Noodle announced without a hint of emotion. She kicked her chair over and walked out, not bothering to look back.  
When he knew she was upstairs- it was difficult to ignore her stomping- Murdoc dropped his head into his hands. Waves of guilt and shame washed over him for what seemed like forever. He hated it when Noodle looked at him like that- like she didn't recognise him.  
Maybe she didn't.  
"I know," he whispered, certain she couldn't hear, "I'm sorry."  
-  
The loneliness was probably the worst part.  
Murdoc had assumed being so alone would be the easy part. Actually, he thought he was quite good company. At least until he was thrown in a concrete cell.  
He somehow reflected a lot, which was something he never thought he'd do. A lot of feelings swarmed his brain like wasps. Buzzing. Stinging. Hurting.  
He vaguely attempted to keep himself busy. Making friends. Escape plans. Finding out who had contraband more valuable than ramen flown in via drone.  
But there never seemed to be enough distractions. Ever.  
So, Murdoc had a lot of time to think about his past, which made him deeply unhappy.  
However, the withdrawal served as a fabulous distraction. He'd been dependant on drugs and alcohol for so, so long, that going to prison had really thrown him off the deep end. Murdoc spent the first few days shivering in the corner and trying to hide the sweat that seemed to seep from every pore on his body. It was horrible. He couldn't eat. He couldn't sleep. All he could do was sit and sweat and shiver and dig his nails into his arm.  
He hadn't ever considered giving up completely. Not even after Stu found him, too high to realise just how close to death he was.  
-  
Murdoc wanted to push his limits. Really find out just how tough he was. How much cocaine could he get up his nose?  
It was obvious, later, that he'd been making a suicide attempt- albeit a very subconscious one.  
Stu burst through the door and into the kitchen, flapping his hands about like he was about to take flight, and yelling at the top of his lungs. Something about traffic, from what little Murdoc could hear. He had his face against the cool table. He'd been burning up after five lines, and the cold wood seemed like a good place for a nap.  
Stu stopped speaking suddenly. His hands fell to his sides.  
Everyone else had gone out. Usually, that meant he was in for a bad night- lots of arguments and lots of bruises. It was expected at this point. But, from where he stood, it didn't look like Murdoc would be doing much.  
Something rose into his throat, then- panic.  
"Muds! Get up!" He insisted, standing at the opposite end of the table.  
Murdoc had meant to tell him to shut up and fuck off, but it didn't come out right. And he couldn't see Stu very clearly. Just a tall blur, with a bright blue top.  
He didn't see the concern crinkle into his features. He didn't see the sweat forming on his hands. And he certainly didn't see the panicked tears in his eyes.  
"'M tired," Murdoc tried, drawing out the 'tired' until he gave up halfway through the word.  
Stu watched him for a second. Murdoc's eyes seemed to roll back and forth in his head. His lips had turned blue, and sweat seemed to have soaked his shirt. He kept twitching, too- horribly, like he was being shocked with a high voltage. His breathing was drawn-out and shallow, like he was struggling to get oxygen in. None of that seemed to faze him, though. No. Murdoc just laid his head on the table and stared at Stu, although he couldn't really see him.  
The panic in his throat was replaced with vomit. Stu managed to keep it down, and asked himself what Russel would do. Then he realised that he wasn't Russel. He decided to just do whatever made sense- and calling an ambulance didn't. The publicity would be terrible. He had a feeling sober Murdoc (whoever that was) would be grateful to have Stu work something out instead, even if he never thanked him.  
So he looked at Murdoc, and at the rolled up tenner beside him, and rubbed his hands together.  
He was surprisingly easy to carry, Stu thought. Or he would be if he stopped jumping like a dying fish...  
He didn't want to compare him to a dying anything, but he could feel Murdoc's rapid heartbeat on his skin.  
Stu made it upstairs and ran the shower cold. He stripped Murdoc down to his underwear- it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before- and then sat him under the freezing water. The bassist hissed but hardly moved. His head pounded, and his chest pounded, and he kept on hitting his legs against the bottom of the shower. The water cooled him down, though.  
Then Stu left him there for a minute. He hunted in his room for Murdoc's asthma pump- the nations best kept secret- and practically flew downstairs to the kitchen. They had two bottles of water. Only two? He'd have to ask about getting more. That was ridiculously unhealthy, he thought. He knew he wasn't the healthiest person in the universe, but-  
Right. Murdoc. Cocaine. Overdose. Possible death.  
Stu bounced back up the stairs after about ten minutes. Murdoc had started shivering then. He reached above his head and turned the shower off, leaving him sitting on the ceramic while he pulled clothes out of the wardrobe. How do you get to 45 and not own any pyjamas, Stu wondered?  
So he grabbed a pair of his slightly shorter pyjama bottoms. Murdoc had managed to reach for the towel in an attempt to warm up. He hadn't quite done it, but settled for wrapping it around one arm. He was trying to speak in-between rapid breaths.  
"Shut up, you old goth," Stu muttered, picking him up again.  
His heart rate seemed to have slowed down, and the spasms had too. He still shivered in Stu's arms. His breath was still rapid and frightening.  
But Murdoc had stopped rolling his eyes back. Instead, he stared up at Stu from his arms, something faintly resembling a frown on his face.  
"You took too much," he stated simply.  
Murdoc nodded. He knew, and his chest was aching. Stu took him to his bedroom and he landed on the bed with a gentle plop. It was kind of pathetic, Murdoc thought. He was fine, really- he could have dealt with it himself. There was something about the way Stu stacked pillows against the headboard and sat him up that made him feel slightly less disoriented, though.  
Murdoc felt cold plastic hit his teeth.  
"Open ya mouth, you idiot," Stu instructed, "you'll 'ave an asthma attack otherwise."  
Murdoc muttered something that might have been an objection, had words sounded like he thought. It occurred to him, as he was breathing in the chemicals, that Stu's eyes were filled with panic. So he took his pump and focused on breathing for a little while. His limbs twitched a few times a minute, and his head still pounded, and his words didn't quite make sense.  
And Stu watched him. Anxious. Shoulders pulled up to his ears in worry. He rung his sweaty hands together and swallowed his panic every time Murdoc twitched. Had he done that right thing? What if-  
"'M....gonna....throw'p," Murdoc managed to slur.  
Stu handed him the bin in the corner that he never used, and he threw up food he didn't remember eating. The singer stuck his tongue out in disgust when he took it back. He placed it outside the door.  
"You're a right fuckin' pillock sometimes, Muds," Stu told him, voice wobbling.  
Murdoc's legs twitched in response, and he looked for a second like he might jump up and smack him. He didn't. Instead, he stared blankly, still shaking, chest still rising and falling rapidly.  
Stu gave him another pump of inhaler.  
He hadn't sat down. Murdoc watched him as his vision focused slightly. He looked strung out. Worse than usual. And worried. So worried, it showed in the way he stood. Stu obviously was trying not to look at him. No point now, Murdoc thought, he'd had to strip him down and shower him, and then wipe vomit off his chin. Awkward eye contact would be a relief.  
His breathing was still staggered, but the twitching had almost stopped completely. Stu bent down, cracked open a bottle of water, and handed it to him. Murdoc's limbs worked slower than his brain, but he didn't spill any.  
God forbid he embarrassed himself in front of Stu by being too out-of-it to care for himself, huh?  
Self pity lumped in his throat.  
"Sit," Murdoc commanded shakily, the first full word since he rolled his tenner up.  
The flash of fear in Stu's eyes made his chest ache more.  
He sat gently on the other side of the King-size and pressed his knuckles into his thighs. Murdoc finished the bottle of water- the first in months- and gave himself another puff on the inhaler. His legs twitched a couple of times, and then his neck, and then he lost all feeling in his feet. That happened a lot.  
Only then did he notice the sharp breath from Stu, and the quivering on his side of the bed. Murdoc was sliding back into reality, even though it still felt like someone was strangling him every couple of seconds.  
"Stu?" He said quietly. Rawly. Weakly.  
"Wot?" Stu replied. Softly. Without turning.  
"I'm okay."  
"You're not."  
Murdoc supposed that much was true. It hurt to think about, actually. In more ways than one. His chest jumped, so he was quiet for a minute while he concentrated on breathing.  
"You scared me."  
"I know."  
"That's it?"  
Murdoc supposed he was right again. He should offer something more. But how did you console someone, when it was your fault in the first place?  
"Yeah, fer now."  
"Dick'ead."  
"Yeah."  
Stu sighed, and then coughed, and then Murdoc realised he was crying. He didn't like how that made him feel. Like a child, who was lost in Tesco. Panicked. Frenzied. Like the end was fast approaching like a giant train.  
"I'm sorry."  
That was it. Stu turned to him then, eyes full of tears and tracks down his face. Murdoc raised his eyebrows even though it hurt his head.  
"Really?"  
"Well, sorry fer worryin' you, not sorry fer takin' too much coke."  
The silence that followed was thick and heavy. After a couple of minutes, he heard Stu lay down, shuffling closer.  
"Was it...did ya do it on purpose?" He asked, the question muffled by his hands on their way to ruffle his hair.  
"Yeah, I think so."  
"Oh."  
Murdoc let that sit a while. His chest jumped again, and the pain tightened, and then loosened. He took another pump of inhaler.  
"Are these yours?" He asked, gesturing to the too-long bottoms decorated with peaches.  
"Oh. Yeah. Ya don't own any pj's, Muds."  
"I don't sleep wit' clothes on, usually.  
"Oh."  
Murdoc held back the growl.  
"Stop sayin' that."  
"I saved ya life."  
"I didn't bloody ask you too, Dents."  
"...O-"  
"Don't!"  
So Stu closed his mouth and flipped onto his chest. It felt like he was mocking Murdoc. 'Hey, look at me, my chest doesn't feel like it's about to explode.'  
"Do you want me to go?"  
"No."  
Murdoc was as surprised as Stu. No? Why didn't he?  
"Come closer."  
Stu seemed dubious, but shifted anyway. Murdoc sighed and sank down onto his back. His chest jumped. Tight. Loose. Another sigh. He reached out for Stu, and pulled him gently. Then, he carried on pulling, until the bright blue hair tickled his neck.  
Murdoc buried his face in it.  
"Thank you."  
"Tha's okay."  
He didn't remember falling asleep. He remembered waking up, seeing Stu gone, and drinking the other bottle of water. He remembered thinking it was for the best that Stu ignored him for the rest of the day, unless Murdoc yelled.  
And he remembered feeling slightly disappointed, too, when Stu took his pyjama bottoms back wordlessly.  
-


End file.
